After witnessing the golden oldies power through their greatest hits first
hand at The O2, Dominic Cavendish brings his guide to Monty Python
Live (Mostly)

What did we expect: that the surviving Pythons had swallowed an elixir and regained their youth? Anyone who attends the troupe’s farewell shows at the O2 arena, or watches the last one when it’s broadcast live on July 20, in the belief that they will somehow behold the gang in their hey-day is heading for inevitable disappointment. Scoffing at the idea of a reunion five years ago in a documentary, Eric Idle observed: “People say “Get the Beatles back together”. Well, that means you want to be young again, not that you want the old buggers to come back. You just want to be young, when the Beatles were new.”

Yet we shouldn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth. The need for money may have impelled the gang to reform for this highly exposing send-off but the rewards are still ample for those prepared to lower excessive expectations, and give cheap cynicism a night off. With a combined age of 357, the Pythons would be forgiven for putting in token appearances and letting younger comedians pay homage, but they work their socks off for this last-hurrah. And despite the casually vaunted two weeks’ rehearsal time, a lot of love and effort – not to mention a budget of £4.5m – have gone into creating a lavish, madcap musical extravaganza that far eclipses their last live show, in 1980, at the Hollywood Bowl.

So what’s in the show? Those happy for surprises to be spilled should read on.

Long-time Python collaborator John Du Prez conducts an orchestral overture – a medley that includes Sit on My Face, I Like Chinese, Finland, Spam, Every Sperm is Sacred and Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. Three large screens, embedded in a mock-up music-hall stage complete with red curtains, flicker into life. We’re soon watching a new animation of Graham Chapman’s head being booted across space, through which also hurtles a police-box, a real-life counterpart to which (“The Retardis”) “materialises” on stage and we’re off.

1) The Pythons arrive to mass hysteria (the screens flash the words “photo opportunity!”) in traditional Spanish costumes, Idle and Jones bearing guitars. They launch into the Llamas sketch. Information about the llama follows, conveyed in gibbering Spanish, with English surtitles (“Llamas are larger than frogs…”). The “Liberty Bell” theme-tune then kicks in, the famous Flying Circus opening credits roll; 15,000 people clap along, go wild etc.

2) A set trundles on, bearing The Four Yorkshiremen, its intro freshly tweaked: “Who’d have thought 40 years ago we’d all be sitting here doing Monty Python?” Idle, Palin, Cleese and Jones puff on cigars and show the old magic.

3) The Penis Song – Idle in silk dressing-gown as Noël Coward, while Gilliam in ghastly drag, accompanies him on the piano: “Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis? Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?” The air starts to turn blue.

4) A segue into the Naval Medley, which further sings the praises of vaginas and bottoms. The first sight of the 20-strong chorus-line, giving it a lot of raunchy emphasis and rude gesticulation courtesy of choreographer Arlene Phillips, who worked with the Pythons on The Meaning of Life. Cleese appears, ordering the company, to “camp it up”, so the dancers shift into a tightly drilled version of the “camp square-bashing routine”.

5) After a video replay of “Batley Townswomens’ Guild presents the Battle of Pearl Harbor”, and a surprise sighting of Vladimir Putin’s face across the navel of Michelangelo’s David, we’re into “The Last Supper”; John Cleese plays the Pope and Eric Idle Michelangelo, contending with his Holiness’s complaints about the generous number of disciples (28) he has depicted, as well as the three Christs.

Photo Credit: Getty Images

6) Every Sperm is Sacred, the notorious Catholic-baiting ditty from The Meaning of Life, rousingly chorused here not by children, as in the film, but by the high-kicking adult dance troupe – kitted out as nuns and priests. Two foam-spurting, phallic cannons are wheeled on by way of saucy garnish.

7) Mr and Mrs Blackitt (Palin and Jones) discuss the difference between Protestant and Catholic sexual intercourse. Some footage of the Silly Olympics.

8) Vocational guidance counsellor sketch. Palin’s chartered accountant tells Cleese’ counsellor he wants to become a lion-tamer. When it’s pointed out to him what a lion actually is, the skit shifts into…

10) After footage of the Philosophers’ Football Match, it’s time for Aussie-based audience-participation with the Bruces’ Song in praise of drinker-thinkers.

11) Crunchy Frog. Terry Jones, hunched at a desk as the proprietor of Whizzo Chocolate, gets a visit from the cops (Cleese and a nicely vomiting Gilliam) on account of the unorthodox and wholly unappetising source of his confectionary.

12) The Man Who Speaks in Anagrams. Idle does so, delightfully.

13) I Like Chinese, the iffy stereotyping number reinvented on a big musical scale for the 21st century, led by Idle. “I like Chinese. They copy everything they sees… But they’re up on the moon soon, they’ll do as they please.”

Intermission

Act Two

1) A dead-pan, cod-balletic performance of “Spam Lake” morphs into a lithe, choreographed orgy to the bare-faced, rousing cheek of “Sit on My Face”.

2) The Death of Mary Queen of Scots. Cleese and Jones in drag as Pepperpots slump in a living-room listening to a radio enactment, childishly gruesome and near-wordless, of Mary’s death. Their radio-set explodes, then, after a short discussion about the penguin sitting on top of the TV set, so does that too.

3) Gumby Flower-arranging. Gilliam, sporting a knotted handkerchief on his head and a moronic expression on his face, is on fine dunderheaded form, clumsily stuffing flowers upside down into a vase in a sketch first seen on TV back in 1970.

4) Poofy Judges. Gossiping Idle and Palin get their robes and wigs off to reveal (not a very pretty sight) the tights, suspenders and brassieres underneath.

5) Albatross. The original stuffed albatross has been brought out of storage to enable Cleese, got up as an icecream-tray-carrying usherette, to rail at Jones’s non-plussed customer. “It’s a bloody sea-bird… it’s not any bloody flavour!”

6) Nudge Nudge. Greeted with a roar of recognition on the opening night, Idle matches his glory days as he gets back into winking, insinuating, spivvy character, with Jones playing the perplexed pub-goer he button-holes.

7) Blackmail, the spoof TV show in which unwilling participants are forced to part with cash to prevent compromising secrets being spilled has been souped up, not least with the introduction of a surprise celebrity cameo (suffering the indignity of having his head in a paper-bag on the first night was Stephen Fry).

8) Anne Elk. Cleese dons frightful wig, glasses and skirt to play a primly deranged, woman with a theory “which is mine” about brontosauruses, procrastinating with revolting, catarrh-riddled bouts of coughing. An exasperated Idle quizzes.

9) The Spanish Inquisition. Holds good here, with Palin as Cardinal Ximinez of Spain, accompanied by Biggles and Fang (Jones and Gilliam). Carol Cleveland, who has popped up throughout the evening in various guises, plays the mystified house-dweller who’s told to confess. The last weapon of torture is “the fridge”.

10) … which opens to reveal Eric Idle, all dapper, and crooning the eternally touching Galaxy Song. Mesmerising visuals give way to a video skit in which Prof Brian Cox pedantically dissects the lyrics, only to be flattened on the grass of King’s College Cambridge by the speeding wheel-chair of Stephen Hawking.

11) The Silly Walk Song. Bowler-hatted dancers carrying brief-cases indulge in some organised mayhem to a preachy new number about the evils of money.

12) Argument Sketch. Still holding good, despite the evident exhaustion of Cleese at this stage in the evening; his corpsing and chemistry with Palin is a delight. Gilliam swings by on high, suspended on wires, singing “I’ve Got Two Legs”, only to be shot down by Cleese – the former’s fake stomach disgorging entrails.

14) As if from nowhere, Cleese appears with the words “I wish to register a complaint” (cue audience whoops) and the caff is disassembled and reconfigured as a pet-shop. We’ve arrived at the high-point of the evening, one which doubles the pleasure with a sudden swerve into the Cheese Shop sketch; Palin amiably matches his counterpart in timing, emphasis and infectious delight.

15) A rather “so-what?” sacrilegious-sexy finale number, Christmas in Heaven, allows the ensemble to cavort around in fake-breasts, fake snow a-falling, but it’s really just a means of heralding the true climax, served up as the encore.

Photo Credit: Getty Images

16) Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, an arena-sized anthemic sing-along that warms your cockles and moistens your eyes as you bid the old timers adieu.